These Ships Sink, Always
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: Nothing good ever came from caring, this Daryl knows. And when it concerns Glenn, it isn't any different. DarylGlenn, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Walking Dead._

_**Summary: Nothing good ever came from caring, this Daryl knows. And when it concerns Glenn, it isn't any different. DarylGlenn, oneshot**_

_Here's another WD one! DarylGlenn, because these two are completely epic and I love them. There are so many great authors writing for them and it's just inspired me so much more. I would love to hear what y'all think about this. Thanks so much for reading! (Oh, and it's totally national Metal day. Celebrate! Haha.)_

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><p><strong>These Ships Sink, Always<strong>

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><p>Daryl prides himself on being smart.<p>

He's definitely smarter than people give him credit for. He has heard his share of insults and degrading remarks thrown his way, regarding his supposed lack of intellect or the fact that he is nothing more than a redneck. So on, so forth. He hears all of these things, and enjoys proving people wrong, which he does on a daily basis.

But being smart never really helped anyone when they had so much trouble with things like this.

The heart and the brain always seem to be at odds with one another. The brain knowing that a certain something wasn't good for it, not at this time or place or in this world, and the heart wanting it anyway because it felt so damn _right_.

Honestly, Daryl wants to tell the both of them to shut the hell up right about now. Because, really, there were three things he could gather from thinking that. One, that he was a sissy. Two, that he was thinking _too much_ about things. And three, he was damn near close to going insane.

Still, Daryl isn't sure what to call the strange tugging feeling in his chest every time he sees Glenn. He isn't sure what to call any of the odd feelings he ends up being the victim to when that boy is around.

He does know one thing, though - _it isn't good_.

He had been brought up to know that caring too much about something wasn't good. Even now he recalls the one time when he had brought home a kitten when he was a child. It was a scrawny, sickly, tiny thing with film over one eye and bones protruding from beneath patchy fur. Daryl brought it home nonetheless, believe it or not, because he loves animals…

Merle wanted to put it down immediately. "It's too sick," he said, "ain't nothing gonna help it."

Daryl tried though. He was young and naïve then, and couldn't see the signs that the kitten's life was deteriorating despite anything he tried. The kitten was clearly too young to be away from his mother, plus the other factors, resulted in the little thing passing away not three days after Daryl brought it home.

Even now, as he remembers it years later, it brings a little twinge in his chest. He cried inconsolably over that kitten for days. It was something that Merle made fun of him for the longest time - or, well, _used _to…

Daryl straightens, pushing that memory to the back of his mind. He knows why it was brought up, to prove that caring about things only hurt you in the end. Sure, it was fun while it lasted. The kitten lumbered around and sat in his lab and purred despite the hand it was given.

And then that kitten was taken away.

His fingers tighten on the edge of the table inside the camper. He would give anything to be out of this tin can and back on his motorcycle. A few miles back, the thing broke down. Everyone had to stop and help tether it to the top of the camper that he now rides in. He feels like he's going to suffocate, being in here so close to everyone. Especially the one he was just thinking about.

Daryl hasn't looked him in the eye since he stepped into the camper with him. He can't bring himself to. He can see him out of his peripheral vision, though, and Glenn is staring at him. Again.

He finds it so damn hard to concentrate when that kid is staring at him, and he _knows_ why. He _knows _why he can't stand the thought of Glenn looking at him. He _knows _why he can't stand that he actually _likes_ him looking.

The kitten story comes into his head yet again.

Loving something wasn't easy. Something beloved will always be taken away in the end. Always. Simple as that.

_Caring_ was the worst thing in the world, especially now.

He's seen how Dale got all choked up over Andrea's decision at the CDC. Seen how he threw his own life away so easily, just like that. Nearly got them both killed. He's seen how Shane looks at Lori (he might be a redneck, but he's not stupid), he's seen how Rick looks at Lori, and he thinks about the apocalypse and how they have their own little version of that going on between the three of them.

_And he's seen how Glenn looks at him._

He knows that it's foolish, but he's seen it. He's seen everything the guy does, as sad as it is to admit. He knows his patterns better than his own, even.

And, most times, he catches Glenn looking at him because he was the one searching for that dorky baseball cap in their rag-tag group of survivors.

The whole thing with Glenn has gotten so bad that Daryl can't concentrate. He tries, really. He tries his damnedest to keep from caring about that boy, but whenever there's a random Walker around, Daryl finds his gaze immediately shooting over to see if Glenn is okay (after he sends an arrow into the fucker's brain, of course).

It's got to stop.

More than anything, it _needs_ to stop. More people have died around him than he can count on both hands, and Glenn might very well be one of those people one day.

The thought of that sends cold water rushing through his veins.

Losing Glenn…he can't even comprehend that right now without losing his cool completely. He has to remain positive, has to think that no matter what, Glenn will be safe. There can be no other way, not if Daryl wants to keep whatever sanity he has left.

He can almost hear Merle's taunting voice in his ear, "Ain't nothing savin' him, brother."

In response to the haunting words, Daryl clenches his fists so tightly that his nails dig into his palms. Good. Physical pain he understands, not all this emotional nonsense.

"Daryl," his voice breaks through the silence.

Daryl turns his gaze, finally, to Glenn, who is staring at him with such openness that it is almost jarring, "What?"

Glenn winces, but recovers easily. "You okay?"

He scoffs in reply, "Fine."

Blinking a few times and pursing his lips, Glenn then reaches in his pocket and digs out God knows what. Daryl takes this moment to drink him in, allowing himself this one time and then he'll quit, honest. (_Liar, _his brain tells him.) He stares at the grim and dirt on his skin, at the way his hair has become sweaty, at the way he bites his lower lip as he tries to find whatever it was.

He finds it, looks up, and completely catches Daryl in the act of memorizing all the details about one of his traveling partners. Daryl stares at him, unflinching even at being caught, if secretly startled, and goes, "What?"

Glenn smiles and offers him a single stick of gum, "Here. Last piece."

"…_really_." Daryl's voice is full of unmitigated deadpan.

"Peace offering."

"Right, I didn't think we were at odds, Chinaman."

Glenn wrinkles his nose at the moniker, but shoves the gum in Daryl's hand anyway. "Take it."

Daryl gives him the driest look possible, but takes the gum anyway. "Fine."

"Peace offering means no _Chinaman_."

"Okay."

"Man of many words, I see."

"Doesn't mean I don't understand sarcasm, Glenn."

Then Glenn does it - he smiles, so brightly in such a dingy, dirty place that Daryl thinks he's imagined it. He stares, longer than he should, and takes in the whimsy of the moment before cracking a grin of his own.

Right now, right here, Daryl finds it hard to believe that he'll ever be able to _not _care.

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><p><em><strong>End.<strong>_


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